


you've gotta beg for it (this too is comfort)

by notcaycepollard



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Dom/sub, Established Relationship, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Phil Coulson: human disaster
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-21
Updated: 2015-09-21
Packaged: 2018-04-22 17:24:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,932
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4843967
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/notcaycepollard/pseuds/notcaycepollard
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Shhh," she says. "I've got you. You want to be good for me, don't you? You want to follow orders?"</p>
            </blockquote>





	you've gotta beg for it (this too is comfort)

**Author's Note:**

> established relationship, you can read it as following 'baby just get on your knees (and let me take the shot)' or as separately established

Coulson knows,  _knows_ , he's exhausted, that he needs to stop working, that he needs to sleep. He can't. It's not the manic insomnia of the GH-325, carving its way out of him in long, jittery stretches. It's just. Things went  _bad_ , and he's the Director of SHIELD. Things going bad is on him. He can't sleep.

"Director?" Skye asks, and he jumps. She's standing just inside the doorway. From her expression, she's been there a while. "Director," she says again. "Coulson, you have to sleep. You've been up for, what, forty eight hours now?"

"I can't," he mutters. "I can't."

" _Coulson_ ," Skye says, exasperated, and walks over to him. "Come on. This isn't helping anyone. Things went wrong. But you can only fix them if you're awake and alert enough to be useful to us all. You need to  _rest_." She sets her hand down on his shoulder, very gentle. Coulson sighs.

"I've got-" he tries to say, and his voice hitches. "I-"

"Do I need to make this an order or what?" Skye asks, and Coulson can't help it, feels his muscles go slack at the suggestion. Skye tightens her fingers at the nape of his neck. "Oh," she says. " _Oh_."

"It's not-" Coulson tries to clarify, embarrassed that she's noticed, and Skye presses just a little harder.

"Shhh," she says. "I've got you. You want to be good for me, don't you? You want to follow orders?"

"Yes," he whispers, and she releases her grip, strokes her fingers gently across the side of his neck. 

"Good," she tells him. "Get up, Coulson. That's an order." He gets out of his chair, stands waiting for his next order. "We're going to your bunk," she says, and that's easy enough. He expects Skye to sit down, but instead she stands close to him, within reach, not touching. "Take off your jacket, Coulson," she instructs, and that's easy, too. He slips it off, holds it, and she nods. "Yeah, hang it up," she tells him, "and your tie too."

He takes off his tie, slides it over the coathanger. "Now your shoes," Skye says. "And your pants." That's harder, because _Skye's_ standing there watching, but her orders are so crisp, so precise, that she's making it easy to follow. He unlaces his shoes, kicks them off, undoes his buckle. Blushes, just a little, because he's exhausted beyond imagining but being given orders so carefully is having an effect.

"I-" he says, bowing his head, and Skye presses one hand to his jaw, her fingertips both firm and gentle.

"You need this," she says. "Shhh, Coulson, you need this. You're doing so well for me, aren't you?"

"Yes," he agrees, feels a flush of warmth at her praise. Skye tightens her fingers briefly, lets him go.

"Such a good boy," she agrees, and god, if Coulson were more awake right now, that'd have him painfully hard. "Pants, now. And put your shoes away neatly, Coulson, like you usually do." He obeys, quickly, stands in front of her in his shirt and boxers, not trying to hide that his dick is half-hard right now. His mind feels so perfectly empty of thoughts and worries and distractions, nothing but  _obey_ and  _Skye_ and  _be good_. It's the best thing he's felt in weeks.

Skye hums in satisfaction and the warm bubble in Coulson's chest expands, because Skye is  _pleased_. "Unbutton your shirt and take it off," she tells him. Coulson starts at his collar, works his way slowly down until his bare chest is exposed, and slides it off his shoulders. Skye reaches out and takes it from him, drops it at her feet, and Coulson wants to get on his knees just to pick it up again, just to feel Skye praise him. She hums again, under her breath, strokes a hand flat across his shoulder and upper arm. "Are you ready to sleep?" she asks, and Coulson doesn't know how to answer that question right now.  _  
_

"If you tell me..." he says, eventually, and Skye smiles.

"You want me to order you? You need that?" she says, and presses her fingers to his lips. "Okay. Okay. Get into bed, Coulson." He climbs into bed, settles under the covers, and Skye sits down beside him, takes his right hand, wraps her fingers around his wrist like a band of solidly reassuring heat. "You did so well, following my orders," she says gently. "I've got it under control now. Go to sleep, Coulson," and he does, he slides into it in a haze of blissful, blank warmth, Skye's grip on his wrist like a tether.

When he wakes up, she's still sitting next to him, his wrist still firmly held in her fingers. He doesn't know how long he slept, how long she's been sitting there. "Skye," he mumbles, feeling a little disoriented. She smiles down at him, sets down her phone on his bedside table.

"Director," she says. "Feeling better?"

"I- yeah. Yes. Thank you," he gets out, closes his eyes. When he opens them again, Skye's still looking at him, very intent.

"Do you need anything else?" she asks, squeezes her fingers into the bones of his wrist just a little. Coulson shivers, flushes, feels his body respond. He's still in a headspace where Skye's orders are filling him up. "Hmmm," Skye says thoughtfully. "You still want to be a good boy for me, don't you?"

" _Skye_ ," Coulson says, suddenly desperate, and she shifts on the bed so she's cross-legged and facing him, still doesn't let his wrist go.

"Yeah, I've got you," she says, pushes his arm up over his head and holds it there. "Give me your other hand," she demands, and he lifts up his left hand, willingly lets her take it and press it above his head too. The metal is cool against his right hand. "I can't hold both of your wrists here and do what I'm going to do," Skye tells him. "Can you obey me? Can you keep your arm here?"

"Yes," he says eagerly, and Skye smiles, leans down, brushes a kiss across his mouth. He strains up into it, trying to get _more_ , and she nips at his bottom lip with her teeth.

"Uh uh," she says teasingly. "I've got you. You're going to be so good for me, aren't you, Phil."

"Yes," he says, and "please," and "oh god, Skye, please." She lets his metal wrist go, strokes her hand down the plane of his chest, pinches his nipple, and he moans, arches into it.

"This isn't about pain, is it?" Skye says, and no, god, it's not. "You like having me in control." She flicks his other nipple, slides her hand lower, palms his cock through his boxers, and he jerks, involuntary, his hands lifting as if he's about to move them. Skye squeezes his wrist, warningly, and he feels the beginnings of a bruise under where her thumb is pressed. "That's not being good, Phil," she tells him, and he takes a deep breath.

"Please," he says again. "Please."

"Oh, you're _easy_ ," Skye breathes. "Begging already?" She hooks her fingers over the waistband of his boxers, pulls them down, her nails scraping over his hipbone. He makes a desperate noise. " _Phil_ ," Skye says, teasing a little more, her fingers creeping toward his cock so slowly. "If you want to beg, then beg."

" _Please_ , Skye, I- please touch me," he groans, and she presses her fingers into the crease of his thigh.

"I  _am_ touching you," she points out, cool and calm and so  _perfectly_ in control, and god, Coulson's never seen anything hotter. He groans again, closes his eyes, and she's suddenly gentle. "I want to hear you say it, Phil," she tells him softly. "That's an order."

"Touch my cock," he replies obediently, "please, god, I- just, I want your hand on me so badly." Skye pauses for one long moment then wraps her fingers around him, starts stroking so fucking slowly, and  _fuck_ , it's good. Coulson has to grit his teeth not to come just at her touch.

"Tell me that you like it, Coulson," she orders, twists her hand just a little, and his breath comes in gasps.

"I do," he agrees between breaths, "I do,  _fuck_ , Skye, I love it."

"You trust me?"

" _Yes_ , Skye," Coulson says with perfect faith. She squeezes, lets his cock go, and he wants to moan, but then she's vibrating the air around him and it's so  _intense_. He cries out, arches his hips up into it, bites his lip.

"You're going to be good for me, aren't you? You won't come until I tell you to?"

"I-" Coulson gets out, stutters. "Oh  _god_ , I-"

"Beg for it," Skye tells him, relentless, and he does, he chokes around the words, pleads with her, strains under her touch. It's overwhelming. It's all he can think about. She grabs him again, keeps up the vibrations, and there are stars bursting under Coulson's eyelids, flaring in bright colors.

" _Please_ ," he says again, " _Skye_ ," and she must hear something in his voice, because she  _twists_ , again, rubs her thumb over the head.

"You've been so good," she breathes, and the praise fills him up, makes his skin feel flush and damp with heat. " _So_ good. Come for me, Coulson," she demands, and he's coming so hard he feels like he might actually die. Skye's hands are on his wrist and his cock and she's holding him down, tethering him in place, and god, it's what he needed, she  _knows_ what he needed and she gave it to him so perfectly.

She releases his wrist slowly, and he makes a needy noise which she quiets with her fingers pressed to his lips. "Shhh," she says, "it's okay, I've got you, I'm just going to get a washcloth." She ducks into his bathroom, comes back with a hot towel and a bottle of water. "Here," she tells him, "let me clean you up, and then drink this." She gently wipes off his stomach and chest, and he tries to take the water bottle, but his shoulders are stiff from his arms being held above his head for so long. Skye notices, of course, and holds the bottle to his lips instead, lets him gulp the water.

"Do your shoulders hurt?" she asks, concerned, pressing her thumbs into the muscle. Coulson shakes his head, because they don't, nothing hurts, he feels floaty and cosy and warm, and she frowns, massages his arms until they relax and he can stretch out.

"Are you..." he says, sleepily, and Skye smiles, pulls off her sweatshirt and kicks off her leggings, stretches out next to him and pulls the covers up over them both.

"Let's get some more sleep," she suggests, "and you can go down on me in the morning. I expect to be worshipped, you understand."

"...yeah," he says, "sure, sounds good," because he's _very_ sleepy. Skye pulls him in until his head is resting on her shoulder, and she strokes his hair, the nape of his neck, his shoulder.

"Next time I'll intervene sooner," she tells him, "you're not working yourself into an early death while I'm around."

"Happened once already," he agrees. "But you know what I need."

"I do," Skye murmurs. "I do. Do you need to be ordered to sleep again?"

"No, this time I'm good," he replies, presses a kiss to her bare skin. "Thank you."

"Any time," she says, drowsy, and Coulson doesn't need to be ordered to worship her, either, he's done that all along.


End file.
